Monday, July 16, 2007

My Love Affair with Monday

This morning I had about four shots of espresso. Normally that just keeps me from nodding off at my desk, but I must have been better rested than I thought because today I cannot sit still, which is probably why I have so many random thoughts running through my head this morning.


First of all, I love Mondays. On Monday the week is new. I have’t screwed anything up yet. I haven’t snapped at my coworkers, yet. I have yet to forget my lunch every single day and I have not been led astray by the candy dish. Yet. I still believe that this week I will give work my best shot. Because it’s Monday it is so much harder to be apathetic, even when I felt that way all last week, except for Monday. On Monday, too, all my work goes quickly. I don’t care much for Tuesday, the novelty of my job has definitely worn off, but Monday is great. I just think you should know.

Also, I think I'm developing a phobia of going to the hair dresser. See, growing up I didn't cut my hair much and when I did my mom cut it straight across, no layers. This is fine when you wear your hair in pigtails or braids every single day, but you can see how that to change when I got older. That was fine too, my hairstylist loved me and I could walk in and say, "I don't know what I want, it should be this length, make it pretty."
In college I cut my hair very short, much to the approval of almost everyone I'd ever met and a few people I didn't even know (it's true) and the dismay of my boyfriend-at-the-time who really likes long hair (but seriously it didn't look good). That was easy because of Lucky Magazine's hair guide...but since then styles have changed and Lucky has yet to put out anything of equal or greater value.
The first stylist I tried here in Indiana cut my hair very nicely...oh a couple of times, but I've since discovered that though I bring the same picture with me each time, the original cut is never recreated.
I got tired of ineffectually attempting to straighten my hair, which hovers indistinctly between being straight and wavy, so I told my latest hairstylist I just wanted to wash the style and go. She completely misread that as, "Please scrunch my hair and try to sell me expensive hair care products, punctuate with uncomfortable small talk."

Which leads me to rant number three. I hate telling people I graduated from Grace. Invariably it leads them to believe that then is an appropriate time to tell me that they think 1) Grace is the devil, 2) All Gracies are pricks, 3) They would have never survived there because they are much too cool for that. Thank-you. I am glad to know of your disdain. I'll cherish it always.

For the record, I liked being at Grace. I liked a great majority of the people (and I don't even like people). I liked my classes. I liked chapel. I barely noticed the rules, much less felt compelled to break any of them.

If that makes me a prick, so be it, but at least I didn't go just because it was easy. At least I didn't go because mummy and daddikins threatened to revoke my car and pocket money if I didn't do it. At least I didn't spend the entire time whining that I was expected to meet a standard I agreed to meet. I'm sorry I'm not bloody cool enough, just cut my hair so I can pay the exorbitant bill.


Moving on to actual events, this morning I was driving to work and I noticed something odd on the side of the road. It turned out to be a lady learning inside some sort of small covered cart (about knee high). The lady turned out to be Rosie Swale of Pope Wales. She’s walking around the world for cancer. She has this great accent and she never stops talking. It’s times like that I wish I had a pocket recorder. We met her because she met Delilah who thought that we might know of a harness shop where she could get a new harness made. None of the harness shops around here make people harnesses, but she’s out buying the parts right now and then some guy is going to sew them together for her. Meanwhile, her cart, Charlie, is parked outside our offices and people have been coming buy to take pictures (a local paper did a story on her).
Rosie’s been through Eastern Europe, Russia, Siberia, Alaska, Canada, and the upper plain states of the U,S.
You can check out her site at

Edit: She came back and I got some more pictures of her taking off. It was a lot of fun. I got to run up the highway and take pictures of her coming down the road. My job is really odd sometimes, but quirkiness can be a good thing.


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